Your Are A Blessing - A Short Story

“You Are A Blessing…” 

“I stand here today….,” 

Began Nina, a final-year Social Work student on whom the college auditorium’s spotlight was focused.

“As the university’s best achievement award winner 2022, and…and…” Her voice trembled as she continued. 

“I am grateful to all my professors, faculty members, staff, and my dear colleagues, for having not only recognized but also helped me to realize my potential within to become what I am today”. 

She then stopped for a while and took a deep breath while her eyes spanned across the length and breadth of the college auditorium. It was, though filled with university professors, students, and their family members, yet having a resounding silence to listen to her speech. Her eyes were pensive but steady. As she exhaled her breath, she began to talk again. 

“You have seen and evaluated my potential. Thank you very much! But do you know me?”

The audience was startled for a moment and there heard some whispers in the crowd as well. The college officials and the invitees in the first row became a bit uneasy, though attentive still. Yet, Nina’s eyes were determined though her voice was still bleak when she inquired again. 

“Do you know me? Because, all of these wouldn’t have been possible except for one person in my life, whose name I didn’t know until I came to college.” 

There was an ‘Ooooo…’ in the crowd. But it faded away and came to a quiet halt as Nina continued her speech. 

“Three years ago, when I first came to the college to collect the degree enrolment application form, it was the first time I realized that I had to fill in my parents’ names in the application. All I knew about my mom’s name, if at all I had ever wanted it, was that she was called Mrs. Kumar after my dad. I called her on her WhatsApp number to ask for her full name. Yes, you heard it right, I called her up on her WhatsApp number since she was in Thiruvananthapuram because ever since I was in Grade 3 and came to the convent hostel, I have not seen my mother”. 

“She was silent. But I asked for her name again: Amma, I am so sorry. I did not want to offend you. But it has never occurred to me to fill in your full name in a document. And there, she started to sob.” 

“That day, as I left my mother’s name on the application, blank, I could not quite put myself together to complete the rest of the items in the application. Since then, I had zero hopes of getting into a college. Neither had I wanted to attempt in any other college because I thought that I would have to go through the same process again and again, which means, that I would have to make my mother cry by asking her to reveal that which she doesn’t want to do by herself for some reasons.” 

As her audience was becoming more and more serious in listening to her, she continued. 

“As I came home that day, there came my school principal to see me that evening, a dedicated Jesuit missionary who used to visit us when we were in rehabilitation camps at Killinochchi.” 

“Welcome, Father. It is so nice to see you after so many years. What brought you here, Father?” I asked.”

“”Ah… I was passing this way and I just thought of stopping by to see how you, my little child, are doing in life. You are a grown-up girl now, ha… Aren’t you?” He answered.”

“He sounded joyful and interesting as he always did and it made me forget my worries for a while. Having talked life over a cup of tea, he was about to leave when he pulled out an envelope from his khadi bag hanging on his left shoulder.”

“My child, complete your application and hand it over to the college office tomorrow with the letter you’ll find inside this envelope”, said he with his usual witty smile at the corner of his mouth.” 

“Should I open the letter or should I not?  Should I attach it to the application with the envelope or without it? I wondered for a while.”

“I was so restless the whole evening and I couldn’t sleep that night at all. There was something that troubled me about the envelope, about his witty smile, about the letter inside. ‘Am I missing something in life?’ I asked myself. ‘Is there something that I have not known so far in my life’, I became curious. 

“On the following day, as I was going to submit the college application, I received a call from that Jesuit Priest and his voice sounded still cheerful over the phone.”

“Did you read the letter I gave to you to attach to the application?” He sounded exceptionally witty. “ 

“Oh… Should I?” I was scrupulous.” 

“It’s better you didn’t. Save it for the right time. Please keep a copy of it safe with you and you can read it on the day of your graduation.”” I thought he was hilarious for a second.” 

“And so, today, as I am honored with this best achievement award, I feel all the more honored to read that letter in front of him who made all this possible for me, who helped me to reach the stars, and who came all the way to participate in this ceremony on my behalf.” 

She unfolded the copy of the letter she had kept in her pocket, and as she opened it, her fingers trembled and her heart was soaring high. She knew that she wanted to cry. Yet, to fight her tears within, she closed her eyes tight. As she opened her eyes, she saw that the priest was standing next to her holding her by her shoulder as she read: 

“Dear Sir, 

Please accept this child to your college. I have known her ever since her family was in rehabilitation camps after the war. She grew up with her foster mother until she was about 8 years old. When she was about a year old, her parents were……………”

When Nina saw what was written next in the letter, she sank into an uncontrollable pool of tears while those eyes fixed on her in the audience cried as well. The priest took the letter in one hand and held Nina in the other as he said, 

“let me finish it for her”.  

He began… 

“When she was about a year old, her parents were killed in the crossfire between the LTTE (Liberation Tigers of Tamil Elam) and the Sri Lankan Army while they were hiding inside the jungle. Since then, it was Nina’s aunt whom she calls ‘mother’ who brought her up until she handed her over to the Sisters when she fled to Tamil Nadu in the late 90s. Since then, she has been in touch with me inquiring about her well-being and her studies.” 

“Therefore, what she has gone through in life is tremendous. Yet, I believe God has blessed her with greater gifts and talents in life. Educate her to become what she is truly capable of. Let her know that, starting from her own self, understanding is more rewarding than being understood, and giving makes her more joyous than receiving.”  

“May she be a blessing to your institute, to the field of her expertise, and to society at large! Thank you!”

As the priest finished reading the letter, Nina fell to his feet, sobbing uncontrollably. 

As she was slowly raised to her feet by the priest, the audience soared to their feet chanting:

“Nina is a blessing…” “Nina is a blessing…” “Nina is a Blessing…”  

As the chanting increases, the chief guest, the college officials, and the special invitees joined her on the stage with the award on which is written, “The Best Achievement of The Year 2022”. 

As Nina was awarded, the principal of the College said to the audience as she was approaching the microphone “You are indeed a blessing to our institute and to our society. We are very proud of you, Nina”.  

 

-End-

Maggie’s Tragedy - Short Story

Maggie’s Tragedy

          It was the threshold of winter. A cold wind was howling all around when Maggie laid herself down under the Margosa tree, with her children. The chiller it was in the beginning of the day, the warmer it became in the noon. Possibly, Maggie enjoyed the shadowy enclosure with her little ones more that day, than ever before.

Maggie came to Jiva Maidan as a forerunner, announcing the coming of the winter. Of course, she didn’t come empty. This year too, she arrived at the Maidan with her womb heavy, keeping the custom she followed, nearly, for the last three years. Oh! What a joy it was when her cute, little ones opened their tiny eyes, for the first time. Many of the bystanders, in fact, all, loved her company and motherliness, though it was not shown conspicuously. She was never left to starve. Some found their own ways to feed her, though it was not sanctioned.

Alas! Accursed be the day!  One unfortunate day, Maggie walked on the path of her destiny. The evening sun denied to witness it and made its way steeply downhill.

It was Monday. The Maidan battalion got onto their regular games field. Certainly, that day, their games were delayed for about a quarter of an hour. No doubt, all of them saw her lying under the tree. Many felt pity upon her while some turned their backs on her with loathing. A few among them had something special for her. All they wanted was, to do away with her, beginning with her children first.

For that task, the conspirators had already hatched a sinister plan at the table, as they lunched together that afternoon. All of them shared the responsibility to execute it to the last letter as scrutinized by their leader.

Soon, they busied themselves in action. Maggie was coaxed indoors with a few pieces of chapatti. Totally oblivious, she was led on the garden path. Oh! What a pity! She made a grave mistake. Poor Maggie relied on their fake generosity. What followed was swift and snappy. Maggie was trapped and bolted behind the doors.

No sooner did they arrest Maggie, than they turned to her children. Even the hearts, that were hardened on her earlier, began melting as they tucked the little ones in jutes and loaded in a rickshaw. Two guards on either side, they took the innocents away.

Helpless Maggie’s heart would have burst into pieces if she were to see her beloved ones, destined to the panchmahabhutas. But the matter became worse when she was let free. She restlessly sniffed to and fro, searching for a glimpse of her little ones. She cried and sighed bitterly. But, they had gone where she could not reach. What was put together was now asunder. All those who were in the field witnessed her fate. Even the hearts of the executioners would have changed if they had seen her agony.

Time passed by. Maggie’s red blood still turned into white milk. ‘Time’ failed to stop it. But, sadly, a few of her babies might have starved to death, while others have been crushed under tires. How she did compensate for her distress was a mystery. How strange it was! Maggie was still simple enough to forgive them and take refuge in them. “Was Maggie practicing the gospel values?” I wondered.

A few days later, the Maidan troop was to go for an evening outing. The bus was ready, and all stepped towards it. Her motherliness did not keep Maggie from bidding ‘Good Bye!’ to them. She approached the vehicle. At that very moment, the devil entered into a prankster's soul. Alas! Had she known if it was her life! The second half of Maggie’s tragedy began. She fell out of the frying pan into the fire.

Maggie was shut in immediately. Perturbed, she laid herself down in a corner of the bus. For the troop, it was a joyful day. But, for Maggie, it was the day to go through the rest of her tragedy. Knowing her forthcoming doom some empathized with her. But, for some, it was a reason to mock her. When the bus neared Moksha dam, they found a place where there were few signs of human existence. “ Ah! This is the ideal place to abandon her,” some thought. Foreseen what would happen to her, many interrupted. But, it was in vain. The next moment, the bus reached a grinding halt, and its doors were snapped open. Maggie was pushed out. No sooner did Maggie step on the road, than they shut the doors on her. The bus speeded up. She chased it desperately. How sad it was! Unfortunate Maggie failed to keep phase with the bus. Almost all watched her run, through the windscreen. All the hearts sank, as they pounded with sighs of pain. “Canine motherhood was indeed painful,” I acknowledged silently.

At that very second, they succeeded in their plot, and Jaina troop jettisoned their annual visitor, she-dog Maggie, hopefully, forever.

Definitely, this time Maggie must have chased the bus, not searching for her lost children, but for the children who nursed her after the tragic loss of her dear ones. Indeed, all she wanted was, to say a few words of thanks, and be grateful to them. But, had they understood it? No, in the blink of an eye, they were out of her sight.

But, were they really successful? Four months have passed since that fateful day, and Maggie’s tragedy has taken a new turn now. Walking all the miles away from Moksha Dam barefooted, Maggie had come to Jainas again, practicing her utmost Maitri. This arrival of Maggie had filled the native troop with owe as well as guilt. Surely, the tragedy is no more Maggie’s now, but Jainas'. All the more, shocked and defeated were her executioners.

The Birth Certificate - Short Story

The Birth Certificate

            The evening sun had already set westwards, and the tumult on the road lessened. “Iranbur,” the bus conductor screamed out. Kavita opened her bleary eyes. As she rushed to get down, the child in her lap began to cry. Putting her puckered breast in the child’s mouth, Kavita peeped around to make sure of her destination.

In the dark exhaust of the bus, she stood there alone with her child, fanning the air with her sari. Her uncertain eyes glanced around as the bus moved ahead. When the whirring of the bus faded away, the whole locality turned into a gloomy graveyard. A strange feeling of helplessness overwhelmed her, and she began to bite her sari-end faster than she ever did.

Kavita stood motionless. The unwanted memories of yester months invaded her mind. She contemplated the scraggy face of her child and grabbed it to her bosom tightly, as if to compensate for her distress. She quickened her weary steps along the interior path, between secluded, posh bungalows, until she found herself at a huge, iron gate. By the light of the nearest lamp post, Kavita could barely read the board that was nailed to the right gate pillar, “No.111, Mr. Ka-r-thi-k, s-o-n of MP, Mr. Sh-e-k-ar.”

As she read the first name on the board, Kavita became thoughtful, and fragments of the unwanted memory drifted through her mind again. Troubled and excited, she leaned on to the gate pillar and rang the bell twice.

A buxom maid with a chequered apron rushed to the gate. “ She must be the new servant after me”, reflected Kavita. Her tousled hair added a new weariness to her old age. The maid flashed her curious eyes at the woman behind the gate at that unusual time, with a child in her arms. As she unlocked the gate, she had ample opportunity to glimpse at the face of the innocent and exhausted Kavita, though she stood against the light. Feeling pity for the child, the maid took Kavita in immediately, and let her wait for the owner.

The servant woman’s sympathy awakened in Kavita a painful thought. “Is she of my clan? Is she a Dalit?” she wondered.

Kavita walked up to the parlour carefully, as if she had stepped into an unknown place. She sat down on the lowest step at its entrance, as a fatigued cow lies on the ground. As the darkness thickened, the cry of the crickets intensified and the gloom enveloped her again. The moths around the ceiling light, kept company with Kavita, as if they had understood her plight.

Kavita desperately searched for a familiar sight. But there was none. Everything had changed. Except one - the picture of a wild wolf devouring an innocent lamb. That was still on the wall. When Kavita saw it, she was startled and strove hard to control the anger that surged in her. But, the instant cry of the child brought her back to the present.

It was half past eight. Kavita heard the traumatizing stroke of the parlour clock in the distance. A strange horror overcame her, as she saw a vehicle, its lights glaring. Breaking the sombreness of the night, a jeep speeded up to her and came to a grinding halt. Her heart raced. Trembling with fear, she got to her feet unawares. She saw the person with glittering shoes getting down from the driving seat. It was Mr. Karthik, son of an MP. A young woman in a short skirt with painted lips got down from the other side. She darted across the parlour. Her high heels clicked and the ornaments jingled as she swung her hips. Even though she took no notice of Kavita, the latter knew that the woman was not the wife of Mr. Karthik.

No sooner did the gentleman in white kurta see Kavita, than he burst out with his usual vocabulary, “Wild bitch, why have you come here?” Kavita’s whole body stiffened. She pressed the infant against her dried breast firmly, as if to prevent it from listening to those invectives.

Even though she was innocent, she had no courage to face that fiendish nature. Ten months ago, Kavita had hardened her heart to save a life from abortion. Today, she was sentenced to utter helplessness. Her feeble voice began to tremble. “Sir, I came to get your signature on this child’s birth certificate,” she cried.

The defence tactics worked very well in the political ring. But, that was a strange and weighty one for him to tackle at that hour. He became restless and furious. “Signature? Get it from him who slept with you. There are no fathers here for harlot’s children. Get out of my sight, you dirty………”

Kavita was dumb-founded at those irresponsible words. She opened her mouth to cry, “Sir, it is you!” But she was late. Two cowardly hands had already caught her throat.

Hearing the strangled cry of Kavita, the servant woman came running to the parlour, and was baffled by the sight. When the man saw the maid, he freed Kavita, and she fell to her knees like a withered flower. She hugged her child against her face and sobbed. The man frowned at the maid and spat on the ground. Thundering across the parlour, he banged the door shut on Kavita.

Moved with compassion, the servant woman dragged Kavita into her cottage, and Kavita poured out her past before her.

Trapped by the mockery of fate, Kavita was the eldest of four children in a family, in which there was neither father nor husband. Her father had deserted them when they were small. She never went to school. When she was eight, she began her loathsome career as a servant. Today she was fourteen. Ten months ago, her penniless mother got her employed in that No.111. As Kavita remembered that detestable night when she was locked behind the doors, her eyes sank in bitter tears. That unfortunate night, the poor lamb was hunted, and the greedy wolf had satisfied himself. From then on, she became nobody to everyone. Her own mother deserted her, cursed her and chased her away. But as her womb became heavier and heavier, she became somebody to someone. A mother to a child and a protector of life! She realized that she was wanted again.

When Kavita was half way through her story, she paused for a while and thought, “Wanted? By whom?” A deafening silence prevailed in the cottage. Suddenly, she rose up with determination. She screamed at the closed door of Mr. Karthik, “Sir, you’ve already signed the certificate. This child carries your blood. He is no more a Dalit. He is a Brahmin. He has a glorious future”. Kavita burst into triumphant tears as she hugged the child tightly. The servant woman was bewildered at her sight. Mr. Karthik opened the door, shocked and defeated.

Kavita hurried down the steps. Having parcelled her only meal for Kavita’s journey, the maid gave it to her and kept looking at Kavita’s frail silhouette, until she disappeared into the darkness of the night.